


The One Where Jon Has A Vagina

by thegeekgene



Series: The Adventures of Vagina!Jon [1]
Category: Fake News RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-19
Updated: 2012-04-23
Packaged: 2017-11-03 21:58:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/386397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegeekgene/pseuds/thegeekgene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon has a vagina. Originally written for a kink meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Knew you were - nothing but a whore. Why don't you - beg for it - bitch?”

“You know – ah – Glenn – if you have the breath – to, ah – emasculate me? You're not – fucking me hard enough.”

“Shut up!”

“And if – ooh – I can still – ah, yeah – use the word – ah – 'emasculate' – you're – yeah, there – doing it wr – oh, fuck yes!”

 

Beck was leaving Jon's office as Stephen was approaching with a look Stephen saw a lot of from conservative guests. Flushed scarlet, somewhere between post-orgasmic bliss and abject rage. Never failed to bring a smile to Stephen's face and seeing it on Beck – yeah, Stephen was okay with that. Only, it was odd because he was pretty sure – No chance to ask. Beck legged it before Stephen got in interrogation range. Oh, well.

He knocked briefly before opening the door and looking in. Jon was at his desk with a stack of paper in front of him, productivity personified if you ignored the smirk and the flush still staining his cheeks. Stephen never ignored them. Jon was rarely more attractive than when he'd just been fucked. Blue eyes drifted up to meet Stephen's and the smirk bloomed into a welcoming, if very smug, smile.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hi. Bad time?”

Jon laughed. “Get in here.”

“Pushy,” Stephen observed and ever so casually tripped the lock on his way in. Jon's flush deepened and the brightness of his eyes turned to spark. “Was that Glenn Beck?” Stephen asked. “I didn't know he'd agreed to come on.”

Jon sat back in his chair, the image of self-satisfaction as he beamed up at Stephen, who came over to lean a hip into the side of the desk.

“He didn't,” Jon said. “Just stopped by to give me some feedback on my homage.”

“That was nice of him.”

“I thought so.”

“Was he helpful?”

Jon shrugged. “A good, hard fuck is always helpful,” he said.

Stephen snorted. “Should I be jealous?”

“It wasn't _that_ good.”

Stephen grinned and leaned down. Jon watched with interest as his pants were unfastened. Again.

“Poor baby,” Stephen said. “Can't let you go back on the air with a substandard fuck behind you.”

“I didn't say substandard. I just said not as good as you. He did all right once I pointed out I could still use four-syllable words.”

That deserved a laugh. Jon lifted his hips and allowed his pants to be pulled down and off before reaching for Stephen's belt.

“Okay,” Stephen said. He batted Jon's hand away and undid the buckle himself. “We can't let you go on the air when the last cock you had in you was Glenn Beck's. No offense to his fucking prowess, but honestly. Even if you don't have standards, have some respect for your audience.”

“Okay,” Jon said, agreeable and slightly breathless. His legs were already spreading themselves and Stephen could see a shine of wetness in between. “That's reasoning I can get – ah!”

Stephen slipped two fingers up into him and casually twisted them around, pleased, as always, by the way Jon arched into the penetration, by the look of pure joy he fixed Stephen with.

“Always so happy,” he said, and brushed his thumb over Jon's clitoris.

“Mm, yeah, of course.” He spread his legs wider, rocked onto gently thrusting fingers. “Fuck, Stephen, you've got great hands, you – Oh, god!”

Stephen dropped to his knees and caught hold of Jon's hip, holding him still as he slipped in another finger and continued the slow petting of his slick inner walls. The delicate scrape of nail made Jon whimper.

Stephen said, “I haven't fucked you since Monday. Who've you had in the meantime? Other than our friend Glenn, I mean.”

“Mm, yeah, I, uh – Monday. Monday was you and John, on set, after filming, that was – Shit, yeah, right there.”

Stephen pressed down again. “There?” he asked, innocently.

Jon groaned and tried to thrust but Stephen kept holding him down.

“Ye – Yes, _there_ , as, fuck – as you know d-damn we – ohh!”

“Where on set?”

“What?”

Jon was gasping, getting close and Stephen gave up on conversation in favor of getting him there as quickly as possible. He began teasing his clitoris in earnest and eased his grip so Jon could fuck himself onto his fingers. The only noise for the next few minutes was his rising moans, wet flesh sounds, the soft creak of his desk chair. Stephen's erection, burning his pants, seemed to throb in sympathy with the tense and flutter of Jon's insides as orgasm flowed through him.

Ignoring his own discomfort for the moment, Stephen freed his hand and licked it clean while his other thumb rubbed gentle circles on Jon's hip. Jon's eyes closed then fluttered open, met Stephen's with a smile. He reached out to grab Stephen by the shirt collar and pulled him in close enough to kiss. It was deep and dirty, Jon's tongue pushing it's way into Stephen's mouth then withdrawing. When Stephen gave chase he caught his tongue gently between his teeth and sucked hard. Stephen's shudder, deep and full-bodied, resurged when Jon's free hand made it into his pants and wrapped around his dick. He pulled back with a curse and stared through a haze of lust into Jon's diamond-bright eyes.

“Shit,” he said.

Jon's hand tightened around him. “You planning to put this inside me?” he asked. “Or should I call Glenn back in?”

“Tell me where John fucked you,” Stephen said. He flattened his hand over Jon's groin and brushed the flat of his thumb over his wet opening, earning a shiver.

“Chair,” Jon said. “Let him sit in my chair.” The smirk flickered back into being. “Rode him blind. You should've heard him.”

He tugged Stephen's cock just as Stephen was moving over his clit. They both shuddered.

“You should've invited me.” Stephen cupped his jaw in one hand and pulled Jon down to rest their foreheads together. He closed his eyes. “How about yesterday? Who'd you get then?”

Jon was squirming, impatient. His hand had drifted up to the joint of Stephen's shoulder and neck and stayed there, flexing, while the other shuddered over his cock and that – that wasn't going to work. Jesus. Stephen released his jaw to catch him by the wrist and coaxed him to withdraw. Reluctant as he was to give up Stephen's cock once he had possession of it, Jon was even less willing to risk setting him off too early. Still teasing Jon's opening with feather-light brushes of his thumb, Stephen carefully released his erection. The ease of pressure was a relief, the naked hunger in Jon's face gratifying. His hips jerked against Stephen's hand and he made a sound somewhere between plea and complaint.

“You know we had Huckabee on?”

Stephen nodded.

“Still won't fuck me. The bastard.”

Stephen made an elaborate, mocking sound of sympathy. Jon made a face then hissed in a breath when Stephen lay his thumb across his wet slit and pressed a little more firmly. When he shifted down against it, Stephen withdrew, refusing penetration, and Jon moaned.

“Denis,” he gasped. “Came by. Late. And Larry. Almost forgot Larry. In the bathroom – Bathroom door, shit, _Stephen_. Stephen, _please_.”

His shuddered, spasmed, almost, his legs spreading further, whole body arching, presenting, and Stephen stared for a moment, entranced by wet, pink folds of flesh, the swollen bulge of clitoris, the flush in his face and the quiver of muscle under skin. Then he caught him by the hips and pulled him down out of his chair. Off balance, Jon landed with a whimper, grabbing the chair arms by instinct, then yelped as he was pulled again, this time up onto Stephen's lap.

“Oh, _fuck -_ ”

His hands tightened, his hips arched, and finally, finally, finally Stephen pushed into him.

He thrust hard, burying himself deep, hot and slick – jesus fuck, so slick, so wet, so wide open for him; he felt Jon's muscles tense, close up around him, consume him, and he groaned.

“Fuck, _Jon_.” He thrust again, adjusting until he found the angle that got _that_ noise – that choked off gasp with it's accompanying tremor and -

“Oh, _yes_.”

“Yeah?” Stephen asked, leaning over him, a hand at Jon's hip, the other under his arm, steadying him for his thrusts. Precarious as he was, clinging to the chair arms, Stephen supporting most of his weight, Jon didn't have much leverage to reciprocate, could only hold himself open and moan as Stephen filled him. Every pull back went just a little too far, cool air caressed the folds of his vagina and he whimpered, needy, every time, had a moment of half-formed fear Stephen might pull out completely and leave him hanging, only to be plunged back into bliss with the next hot, harsh push back in.

“Yes, oh, fuck, _yes_.”

Jon's fluids were sliding down Stephen's cock, building until the sounds of skin on skin were soaked through. It was – It felt – He whimpered, again, his second orgasm building, building, but not quite – needed – needed -

“Oh, fuck, fuck, yes, there, please, touch, there, Stephen, _please_ ”

“Jesus _fuck_.”

There it was, hell. Stephen didn't often get to hear Jon sincerely beg, not like this, writhing with Stephen's cock sliding inside him and if it weren't so hot, if he didn't already feel like he was about to lose it -

“Fuck, Jon.”

“Stephen, please, _please_ ”

Yeah, that was begging. Not demanding. Begging. He could hold it together for this.

“More,” Stephen ground out. “Tell me.”

A harsh gasp sent Jon's head back, baring his throat and that was temptation Stephen couldn't resist. As his mouth closed over vulnerable flesh, Jon was pleading, incoherent “ _Please_ , please, Stephen, more, need it, need, touch me, please, god, your cock, please, need, harder, please -”

And then he broke off with a near shriek as Stephen shifted a hand and one thumb rubbed across his clit – not too hard, just firm enough, just the right – Jon shuddered, his whole body arcing as orgasm rushed through him. Stephen held him through it, still touching, still rocking into him. His whole body felt tight and flushed and seeing Jon come again, feeling it from the inside, sent his need past burning into combustion – but he still wasn't there.

“Shit, Jon.”

“Mm, Stephen.” His eyes were bright and dazed and he squeezed near-liquified leg muscles around Stephen, nudging down onto the organ still throbbing inside him. “ _Stephen._ ” Breathless, excited, still. “Stephen. More?”

Like he had to fucking _ask_. Stephen let out a groan, more primal than human, and shoved him back, pressed their bodies tight, and the shift left Jon's legs free to wind tight around his waist as he began shoving into him, again, tight, close, brutal thrusts as he cursed and bit brands into the base of his neck.

“Stephen, _fuck._ ”

Those noises couldn't have been sexy but Jon reacted like their frequency was tied into his vagina, suddenly clutching and groaning, shoving, riding his hard thrusts in earnest desperation.

“Yeah, yeah, fuck, yeah, make me, yes, fuck, yes, make me, make me come, make me come again, Stephen, oh, fuck, fuck, _fuck!_ ”

A last push in, deep and hard as Stephen could make it, muscles straining, flesh burning, and, as he felt Jon shudder, again, heard his orgasmic moans reach one last fever pitch, he came, at last, hard, deep inside.

A few long moments of clutching and gasping passed before Stephen disengaged with a grimace. He rose unsteadily, pulling Jon up with him and deposited him back in his chair as Stephen slumped against the desk. He fumbled his pants up and closed then looked back at Jon. They stared at each other, glassy eyed and panting, until Jon sucked in a deep, sudden breath and said, “You're so hot. Holy god.”

What breath Stephen had regained was gone, again, in sudden, wheezing giggles.

“Fuck,” he said. “Not so bad yourself.” He pulled together some composure and smiled. “Feel good?”

Jon beamed up at him, fucked out and so fucking happy about it. And happy looked so, so good on him. “Feel amazing,” he said. “Thanks.”

“Any time,” Stephen said. “Absolutely any time.”


	2. Chapter 2

If anyone ever asked why Jon didn't wear shoes in his office, he said it made getting his pants off easier. They thought he was kidding.

 

“Stephen! Have you – ”

“Got it, Sam.”

“Right on!”

That was the fourth person who'd tried to wave him down since he'd come into the building. Half of Stephen was curious as to what the hell else they thought he would be here for while the other half was glad any of them thought he might have any other function in life. He wondered, sometimes, how many Daily Show employees remembered that he used to be a correspondent, that he had this whole spinoff thing they might have heard of, that this was in fact the same Stephen who did the Report, and how many of them, seeing him out of his suit, just thought of him as Jon's living dildo. He also wondered why that didn't really bother him at all.

He always knocked before he entered the office but never bothered waiting for a response. It was a liberty few took more than once but Stephen supposed his status as sex object afforded him a little more presumption than anyone with actual free will could lay claim to. (He should maybe stop thinking of it in those terms. But he thought it was funny and it's not like he was about to make 'living dildo' The Word. Though maybe that wasn't a terrible idea.)

Stephen stuck his head in the door, looked left to the sofa, and was immediately delighted with his lot in life. Free will and personhood could take a flying leap.

“Stephen,” Jon said, a little breathless. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he said, and slipped in, locking the door behind him. It was only once that was done and he was leaning his shoulder into the frame that he tore his eyes away from where Jon's hand disappeared under the waistband of his cargo pants and met his gaze head on.

“Busy?” he asked sweetly.

“For you?” Jon said, giving him a smile with too many teeth. “Never.”

Stephen glanced down in time to see slow movement begin again under the fabric, then looked back to Jon's face, flushed and bright eyed. Stephen licked his lips. He was already hard and at his age he wasn't sure whether to be more impressed with himself or with Jon.

Jon's bare feet were braced on the armrest, well within reach, and the most sensible thing Stephen could think to do was reach out, catch hold of his pant legs, and pull.

“Lift up,” he said. “Let's see what service I can render today.”

Jon beamed up at him and cooperated with Stephen's efforts to strip him. His underwear went next and, naked from the waist down, he spread his legs to make space for Stephen to kneel between them. He'd just been getting started, hadn't yet made it to penetration, but when Stephen did nothing but sit with his hands neatly folded, Jon tilted his hips up and slipped the tips of two fingers down inside himself. He paused and Stephen gave him a slow nod like a teacher approving the work of a promising new student.

“Don't mind me,” he said. “Carry on.”

Jon smiled up at him and sank his fingers further in, sighing a little, eyes raking blatantly over Stephen's fully-clothed body, lingering on the obvious erection straining the front of his pants.

“Can't be comfortable,” he breathed and Stephen watched as he began, ever so slowly, to withdraw his wet fingers then press back in again, lazily fucking himself as his color rose higher. Stephen had seen him masturbate for the purpose of getting off and it wasn't like this; it was faster, for a start, and he got both his hands into it. So he was performing, now, and the idea Jon still thought it worthwhile to bother seducing him (or at least to behave seductively, as it probably wasn't possible for Stephen to be any more seduced) during a workday booty call made Stephen happy.

He watched him, listened as his breathing grew louder and more ragged, then reached out and began to shift his limbs around. Jon went with Stephen's whim, allowed one of his feet to be lifted and hooked onto the back of the couch while the other was pushed down to rest on the floor. He shifted the angle of his fingers to accommodate the change, breathed a little harder. When Stephen ran his palms down his inner thighs, the straining muscles quivered. This wasn't quite the limit of Jon's flexibility, Stephen knew, but holding the position for too long would be an effort. He met Jon's eyes, wide open and shining, curious but unconcerned, and smiled. He would have to make it worth it.

“Stephen?”

“It's all right, Jon.” He didn't know why he said it. Maybe it was because Jon didn't seem concerned he wanted to reinforce that there was nothing to be concerned about. “Let me take care of you.”

He looked down to the inner joints where Jon's thighs ended, saw his hands cupped there along side Jon's with it's two fingers vanishing to their limit into his wet opening, now spread wide for him to see. One of his slightly larger hands covered Jon's and pulled it free, prompting a gentle hiss. As he sucked the damp fingers into his mouth, he saw the shining folds of flesh move, inner muscles clenching on sudden emptiness. He swirled his tongue around Jon's fingertips. Tasted pretty nice and the little moan he got in response was fantastic.

“Get your shirt off,” he said, when he'd finished with them, still holding his wrist. “I was to see you.” He stroked his free thumb over Jon's still-fluttering entrance, gathering fluid, and then brushed his clitoris, quick and feather light, letting go of his wrist only after he'd felt the resulting shiver.

“You giving me your cock, Stephen?” Jon asked. He had to arch his back first one way and then the other to get his arms free of his sleeves and Stephen watched proceedings with interest.

“Of course I am,” Stephen said, surprised. “When don't I?”

Jon yanked his shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor.

“I got turned down,” he said and reached out.

“I know.” Stephen lay one hand on Jon's bare waist and steadied himself with the other as he was drawn forward and into a long, deep kiss. “David Barton,” he said.

Jon grunted and bit his lower lip. “Prick.”

Stephen laughed, kissed him again, and leaned further to nip at an earlobe before sitting up.

“Mustn't take it personally, Jon,” he said. “Have some sympathy for the poor guy. There are prior commitments on his dick. He's got, what, six or seven goats tied up in his basement? How can you expect him to service all of them _and_ you?”

Jon bit down on a fist to stem the flow of giggles. Stephen, his mission half-done, smiled and ran his hands down Jon's torso, ghosted over the sensitive flesh between his legs, then took a gentle hold on the inside of each knee. He looked down at Jon, cheeks flushed pink, swollen lips faintly smiling, blue eyes shining hot as stars, then further down at his body, stripped trustingly bare, graying hair grown thick in places while others – his shoulders, his sides – were smooth. Stephen had spent enough time with his mouth and fingers all over this body to know exactly where the hair was course, where it was silky, which skin was in perpetual need of lotion and which was surprisingly soft.

And then there was his vagina, open and vulnerable between wide-spread legs, continuing wetness an expression of trust Stephen had to honor. It was that trust, that confidence in his own desires that compelled Stephen to come running every time those desires were frustrated. And even if Stephen weren't convinced Jon deserved to have whatever the fuck he ever wanted (and he admits a slight bias; even without the fucking Jon's pretty nearly his favorite person in the world) by logic alone he should get whatever _fuck_ he ever wanted – how could anybody without a ring on their finger turn this down? Stephen didn't fuck Jon every day but even if he did he'd still end up jerking off every night thinking about the next cock Jon would take and wondering if it would be his or if he'd get to see it or just hear about it afterward.

“Mm, Stephen.” Impatient. Of course he was. While he was much more comfortable with the whole 'staring in a lust-induced stupor' thing than he'd been the first time they did this he would only wait so long before the tackling began.

Stephen firmed his grip on his legs and said, “You want it, you've got to let me work.”

“I am,” Jon replied. “Or I'm trying to. But you don't seem to be – aah!”

Stephen ducked his head and licked, flattening his tongue for a light swipe over everything in one pass. He didn't wait for further reaction, just shifted further back on the couch so he didn't have to bend so far and began to tease Jon's clit with the firmed tip of his tongue. Jon's moan was immediate, loud, and satisfying. His thighs shuddered in Stephen's hands. He tongued around the folds of his labia and lay a few gentle, sucking kisses around his clit. Just the right pressure in just the right place got a violent tremor and Stephen withdrew, briefly. Licking his lips, he tensed his hands and spread Jon's legs a little wider. Jon arched his hips and whimpered.

“Hush,” Stephen said, very softly. “You know I've got you.”

Without waiting for a response (among other things, he was aware he was being really sappy today and didn't want to hear the inevitable commentary) he leaned in, again, and began to probe deeper, gentling his tongue down into hot folds of skin, slick against his lips and face, pushing in now then pausing to twist, lick, withdraw for the briefest, tenderest sucking kiss. The whimpering started up again in earnest. The fucking was what Jon like best, what he asked for first, what he needed to keep from sulking, but there was a certain subset of responses – a subset Stephen really enjoyed – exclusive to being eaten out.

Continuing his efforts around Jon's entrance, Stephen reached a hand up. Jon caught it and sucked eagerly, if breathlessly, at his fingers. Totally unnecessary, given he was so wet Stephen's face would probably be dripping when he was done, but Jon's mouth was hot and talented and feeling the vibrations of his moans from within would never stop being fascinating.

Stephen withdrew mouth and hand at once, suddenly enough to prompt a harsh gasp that simmered into a moan when wet fingers slid at once into his waiting opening and his clit began being once again teased with quick, light licks. The whimpers made their return, rising into gasps and small groans and his hips began twitching in time with the tender thrusts of fingers. Jon muttered something like 'another' and on their next withdrawal a third slipped in alongside. He got louder as he got closer, Stephen gently man-handling him towards the edge of orgasm, and slipped over with a long, arcing moan.

Jon melted back in the sofa, shuddering and panting as Stephen sat up, fished a handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped his face. His fingers he licked before giving them a perfunctory wipe. He was then still for a long moment, basking in the not-inconsiderable attractions of Jon Stewart immediately post-orgasm, before reaching down to free the by now painful erection he'd been ignoring since he came in.

Before he could do more than ease open the top button of his jeans, Jon said, “Stephen, baby?”

Stephen took one look at his bright, sleepy eyes and said, “Yes.”

“Take your shirt off.”

Stephen blinked.

“Of course,” he said and in one move peeled out of pullover and t-shirt. He lost his glasses and had to take a moment to free them only to find them at once plucked from his hand and laid on Jon's desk, out of reach.

“Okay,” Jon said, sounding happy as Stephen looked at him through blurry eyes. He could not be sure, but he was pretty sure Jon was staring lecherously. Which, yes, was only fair. “You can fuck me now.”

A giggle forced it's way out.

“Oh, thanks,” Stephen said and swiftly undid his pants.

Jon had been utterly cooperative, almost passive, since Stephen came in – not his usual attitude but also not anomalous. He was perfectly capable of being a lazy bastard and Stephen had no problem doing all the work. And it's not like Jon needed to push to ensure it was all about him; it always was.

The first push in was smooth and easy. Jon made a sound like a purr and dropped his head back and it was so perfect Stephen wondered how he managed to survive this every time. Heat and wetness, clinging and inviting and threatening to swallow him whole. Flesh buried in flesh, flush against him, he squeezed his eyes shut and moaned, hands tightening on Jon's hips. He was about to draw back when Jon's legs closed, folded tight around him, drew him an impossible fraction deeper. He gasped and fell forward, just catching himself before his full weight could drop on Jon. Stephen heard him sigh and pried his eyes open in time to see Jon lifting his head to look him over with a sleepy smile, openly lustful and happy and that was why it was about him.

There were precious few things in the world that could actually make Jon happy and Stephen's adoration for the man was such that he would do all of them if he could. Fixing his country's flawed political discourse was a little beyond him, as was ensuring the Mets won the World Series (though they were working on that first one) so he settled for fucking his brains out three or four times a week in exchange for that one look of joy.

And, as a bonus, he got to fuck Jon's brains out three or four times a week. Good deal all around.

“Hey,” he said.

Jon reached out to catch hold of his shoulders and Stephen helped him pull himself upright. He shuddered and gasped as the shifting position and flex and press of muscle did wonderful, torturous things to his cock. His arms around tight around Jon, holding him steady, and he didn't realize his eyes had closed again until he became conscious of hands moving over his back – Jon's hands were always cold and they felt good against his sweaty skin – and a murmur in his good ear.

“My Stephen.” A gentle nip at his earlobe.

“Right here,” he said. His dick was throbbing and aching and Jon was so, so wet. Every nerve in his body was on high alert; a kiss to his jaw had him shivering and the soft, sighing quality to Jon's voice made his heart skip.

“Let's take this slow, okay?” He bit down sharply on Stephen's neck making him gasp and jerk. The move shifted them and Jon made that purring sound again. He closed the last illusion of space between their bodies, hooked his chin over Stephen's shoulder, and firmed his arms around him. Stephen was panting, pressed impossibly deep, and Jon's body felt so good against him and so, so tight around him, he must have been doing it on purpose, it was – 

“Oh, fuck!”

Jon _wiggled_ , squirmed, flush against him, then froze with a delighted gasp. After a moment of wild bewilderment, Stephen realized he'd found the angle to best stimulate his clit as they moved and groaned just thinking about it, about himself, sitting still and permissive, and about Jon manipulating his body until he was all but aflame and Jon didn't need to do anything but let him go.

“You lazy little shit,” he gasped out.

“Mm,” Jon said. “All right. Feels good. You can move now. Just stay like this. And keep it slow. Want to feel this.”

As opposed to all the times he _didn't_ feel it?

Jon's voice faded into gasps and sighs as Stephen complied, began a careful slide within him, more dependent on looping an arm under Jon's ass and lifting him a few precious millimeters than on his own ability to move. The sounds stayed soft, so unlike the usual groans and curses, slowness a strange contrast to the ferocious tightness of his passage around Stephen's dick, the deafening pound of blood in Stephen's veins. It was almost surreal, enforced tenderness wrapped around desperate, visceral need. Being inside him was agony, his cock painfully hard, so much pressure, so much, not enough and he wanted – wanted – 

“Good,” Jon gasped into the hair behind his ear. “So good, Stephen, god, so good. Always feel so good, fuck. Stephen.”

“Killing me,” Stephen murmured. “Hurt – Need – Killing me, Jon, fuck.”

The breathy noise Jon made might have been a laugh, was cut short by a whimper.

“S' mine,” he gasped and Stephen hadn't thought it could get tighter but oh, fuck, it did and he groaned hard into Jon's hair and neck, grip going white knuckled where his arms wrapped around him. The pressure eased, like going from twenty thousand degrees to eighteen.

“Holy fuck, Jon.”

Jon squirmed, making Stephen shudder and himself gasp, arms shifting and tightening.

“It's mine,” he insisted and tightened again. Stephen choked on his groan. “You said you'd give it to me. So let me have it.”

His dick. Through the shorting circuits where his brain used to be, Stephen realized Jon was talking about his dick. He had waived ownership of his body and Jon was collecting. Shit.

“Yours,” he said, his voice coarse and utterly alien. A shudder went through Jon and straight back to Stephen through their joined bodies. “Take it. All you want. Anything. Fuck, _Jon_.”

Jon groaned and wrenched back far enough to take Stephen's mouth, hard, deep, possessive, and Stephen couldn't help but feel like this kiss was planting a flag, like he was territory that had just been claimed.

Then Jon's hands were on his shoulders, urging him back, making him give him space. Disengaging his arms from around Jon was a fight against cramping muscles and a disinclination to ever let go again. He had been kneeling, was now sitting with his legs tucked awkwardly on either side of him, and once his hands were banished from Jon's skin he could do nothing but cling to the back and side of the couch and hold steady as Jon's eyes fluttered closed and he began to ride him, aching slow but coming down firm and squeezing tight, soft moans filling the air around them. Stephen found himself biting his lip, trying to be quiet, to respect Jon's concentration; the thought came to him, half-hysterical, that he didn't want to interrupt, and a strangled moan forced it's way out.

Jon held fast to one of Stephen's shoulders while his other hand drifted down to finger his clit. He gasped and Stephen's hands twitched, lips tingled with the rising need to do that for him, to touch or somehow get his mouth on him again; the desire was almost over-whelming but the decisiveness with which his hands had been removed left no room for disobedience.

“Mm, god,” Jon said at last, voice shuddering as he closed on his orgasm. His rhythm on Stephen's cock – the heavy rocking, all his weight, all his strength, driving himself down, Stephen in, claiming, milking every bit of satisfaction from his hardness before lifting, again, a fractional release of pressure before the next descent – his rhythm was likewise wavering, a little faster, a little less than perfectly measured.

“You're going to come for me,” Jon said. His voice was harsh and breathless and Stephen groaned. It didn't seem strange that Jon was talking, coherent, forming sentences, lurking on the cusp of orgasm, while Stephen himself shuddered, voiceless. “You're going to come hard for me, inside me. But not yet. Not until I'm done. I'll tell you and then you'll come inside me and it'll be good. It'll be so good, Stephen, god.” As if he needed to _tell_ Stephen that. A whimper, quiet and needy, broke from the back of Stephen's throat and it would have been humiliating anywhere else.

“And then,” Jon gasped, after a long, long moment, a moment filled, for Stephen, by his own desperate little moans, by an infinity of press and press and pressure and wetness and heat. “And then. You'll come back. Tonight.” He stopped, poised, at the height of withdrawal, and he'd moved further than before, only the head of Stephen's dick left inside him while the rest rose, exposed and obscene, a link between them. He reached out and grabbed Stephen's jaw, made their eyes meet and his were bright and shining, so close, desire, so much need and Stephen had no idea what Jon saw in his face but he lost a word and had to try again. “Tonight.” A gasp. “Tonight. When you're done. You'll come back. And you'll fuck me again. And if I'm not – right here. You'll wait for me. And fuck me. And I'll make you – You'll come for me. Again. You'll do that. Tonight.”

He wasn't asking, he was telling, not so much an order as a statement of fact but Stephen agreed all the same, all heat and enthusiasm and desperate, burning need.

“Yes, yes, fuck, yes, Jon, anything, tonight, yes, fuck.”

“Keep talking,” Jon murmured and sank down, again, kept riding him, taking him, kept touching himself with confident fingers, releasing quiet moans, and as Stephen talked his breathing sputtered and he began to move a little faster.

“Fuck, Jon, yes, yours, of course, anything, gorgeous, so gorgeous, yes, Jon, yes, always, yours, fuck, yes,” and it wasn't poetry, it was hardly English and he had no idea how much was getting across amidst his own whimpers and harsh, gasping breaths, but Jon rode him a little faster, a little harder with every syllable he forced out and his hand slid down and planted itself in the middle of Stephen's chest. He moaned and shook and came, finally, arching, pressing, so hard, so far down, eating Stephen alive, pulsing around his cock and that hand burning a brand in him and it was so good, so hot, and Stephen needed it, still couldn't - 

Jon breathed out, “Come for me,” and Stephen did, bucked up into the still quivering body astride him and came so hard his vision blurred, falling apart beneath Jon with his whisper still ringing in the air.

 

In another lifetime, another age of the earth perhaps, Stephen opened his eyes and found himself stretched out on the couch, against Jon's chest. At least – he turned and nuzzled with his cheek. Yeah, Jon's chest.

“You killed me,” he said. His voice was strange, slightly broken.

Jon could probably have sounded smugger if he really put forth the effort when he replied, “Think you might've mentioned that, yeah.”

“S' true. Killed me. Dead. Fucked my life out. Out my dick.”

“Baby, we've talked about this. That's semen, not HP.”

Stephen's laugh turned into a cough halfway. Jon shifted and then an open bottle of water was being offered. Stephen swallowed half of it and finally turned to look Jon in the face. Yeah, very smug. There were probably laws against it. Stephen felt himself go red.

“Thanks,” he said, and passed the bottle back.

“No problem.”

“How long was I out?”

That wasn't a laugh so much as the sound self-satisfaction made. If he weren't dead, Stephen would have been annoyed.

“Half an hour.”

Stephen checked the clock and winced.

“I should probably go deal with that whole TV thing,” he said.

“You do that.”

He would have nothing useful to say to Stephen for the next week. Fantastic.

Stephen peeled himself up, was amused to find his cock put away and his pants neatly fastened, and redressed quickly, not looking at Jon again until he had finished. As he suspected, his every move had been watched.

“A little slower next time,” Jon said. “And in reverse.”

Stephen said nothing. He stepped in close, caught Jon's face between his hands, slid into his lap and kissed him, warm and gentle and deep. Jon tipped his head back and allowed himself to be kissed, opened easily for his tongue, gave a disappointed moan when Stephen sucked briefly at his lower lip and pulled away.

“See you tonight?” Stephen asked.

“Tonight,” Jon said. He hooked his fingers into the belt loops at Stephen's hips. “I'm taking you home with me.”

Stephen's heartbeat picked up. It had been a while since they'd done that.

“Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah,” Jon said, kissed him once, quick and sweet, and released him. “See you then.”

Stephen got to his feet.

“Tonight,” he said, and slipped back out the door.


	3. Chapter 3

John was a nice guy. Good conversationalist, great correspondent, funny as hell on screen and off, not bad on the eyes. But even if he hadn't had any of those most desirably qualities, his eternal anxiousness to keep Jon happy would have kept him in Stephen's good books. John might lack his own single-minded devotion to the cause, but Stephen approved on principle of anyone who had their priorities that well in order.

When Stephen made it back that night, John was there leaning over Jon on the sofa. He shuddered to a stop and looked up, alarmed, when the door opened and Stephen felt a little bad about interrupting. But only a little. John was still in his suit, jacket discarded on a chair, and Stephen wondered about that – Jon was already back in his t-shirt.

Jon, who was up against the arm of the sofa nearest the door, and needed only tip his head back a little further to see who'd come in.

“Stephen!” He gave him a sunny smile. “Hi.” As Stephen slipped in and shut the door, he said, “Dude, you didn't hit the lock.”

“Sorry, sorry - ”

“No, it's cool, just remember next time.”

John's glasses were askew and Stephen, raised to be helpful, reached down to straighten them, startling their owner into looking up again. John was flushed and sweaty, hair clinging to his forehead, eyes bewildered and black.

“Uh, thanks.”

“Any time,” Stephen said. “Sorry to burst in.” He looked down to where John's hand disappeared between their bodies. Good boy. Awkward position, though, all his weight on the other arm. He was going to lose his balance. Jon's hair was in easy petting distance and, absently, Stephen stroked a hand through it. “Anything I can do to help?”

John said, “Uh?” and looked to Jon, who was leaning into the caress with the smile of a man who will be getting laid just as soon as he's finished getting laid and, yes, they're both hot.

“Always happy to see you, Stephen,” Jon said. “John? Your call.”

“I can wait,” Stephen offered. “Outside, if you prefer?” Hanging around the hallway with an erection wasn't his favored past time, but he was the one interrupting.

John looked between them, then back to Stephen. “What did you have in mind?” he asked.

Jon knew Stephen, could read his mind even with somebody else's dick inside him, and, as Stephen toed off his shoes, began rearranging himself. He pushed John back a little so he could sit up, making room for Stephen to slip into the space behind him. The urge to cuddle was strong, but Stephen held off, for the moment, instead snagging John's hand as he went to withdraw it. John made a sound of confusion that was cut off when Stephen licked up his palm, to his fingertips, then sucked them clean. It was pure showmanship, done for the satisfaction of making John's breath catch, for the extra sigh of satisfaction as Jon relaxed back against him. He released John's hand with a sweet smile and wrapped his arms around Jon.

“Go ahead. I'll take care of this.”

Jon giggled.

“Bloody hell.”

John was looking a little mesmerized, which was no help at all. But Jon could handle it; he reached his hands out for John's waist and tightened his legs around his hips.

“Come on, Oliver,” he said, tilting his head so Stephen could kiss his neck. “You're still working.”

“What? Oh - !”

John's hands caught his hips and his head fell forward, hair flopping into his eyes. Jon must have been doing that thing again, to get that harsh groan, and John began to thrust, short and hard and slow.

Jon moaned and melted back against Stephen, hands grasping dreamily at John's loosened tie. It was a particular moan, Stephen noted, that meant he'd already come once. He smiled into the crook of Jon's neck and tightened his arms around him, now snuggling shamelessly. _Good._

“Mm, Stephen.” That was a complaint.

“Sorry, sorry.”

He slid one hand down between Jon's legs, to damp, wiry hair and tender skin. His fingers found where John's cock penetrated and lingered there, catching between their bodies on the next thrust. His own erection throbbed.

Jon moaned, eyes on that intersection of bodies and spread his legs wider.

“C'mon,” he said. “John. Faster. Stephen, now.”

John grunted softly and obeyed, picking up the pace of his thrusts. His compliance sent tremors through Jon's body and Stephen grinned into his shoulder. He carded through the tangle of pubic hair and, finding his clit, began a gentle massage, fingers instantly wet as they slipped into folds of excited flesh and Jon's breath caught.

“Yes, ah - ”

It was an interesting chain reaction; Stephen's fingers pressing led to Jon's body arcing to John groaning, to the shuddering, quickening rhythm of his thrusts. Stephen sighed and shifted, his dick pressing into Jon's back, absorbing every squirm.

He lay another kiss on Jon's neck and hooked his chin over his shoulder. Hugging Jon firm against him, he was close enough to hear every hissing breath, every whimper, every moan as John thrust harder, short, rasping groans floating up over the wet sounds of penetration.

He worked Jon a little faster, a little firmer, felt course hair against his palm. Jon groaned and his hands flew, suddenly, to latch onto the arm wrapped around his chest. He was moving, now, hips circling up into Stephen's questing fingers, out to meet John's badly controlled thrusts, his moans a near constant fixture and then – yes, the cursing started, growing louder as Stephen smiled.

“Fuck, yes, yes, John, harder, now, jesus, Stephen, yes, John, harder, god _harder_ \- ”

“Fuck, John,” Stephen said, the tinge of desperation in Jon's voice making his erection ache. “You aren't going to break him.”

“Oh, fuck - ”

John surrendered, began throwing his weight behind each push in, going faster, grunting with new exertion and shoving Jon back against Stephen. The moans broke and Stephen felt the orgasm shuddering through Jon as his head dropped back, pressing into Stephen's shoulder. Stephen bit down gently on his neck, worked him through it, then drew his hand away and cradled him tight through John's final thrusts.

John finished with a rasping moan and fell forward, head coming to rest on Stephen's arm, draped over Jon's chest. With one thought, Jon slipped his arms around John's waist as Stephen lay his free hand, still slightly damp from Jon's arousal, lightly between John's shoulder blades.

“You all right?” Stephen asked.

“Mm,” John said.

Jon laughed and tightened his grip. A moment later, Stephen felt other hands, John's, reach out and take hold of him around Jon's body. He smiled and rubbed his back as they were hugged. A short time passed, quietly, as Stephen listened to their breathing soften and even out. He was still hard, cock trapped between him and Jon, but it wasn't urgent and this – this was okay.

Jon kissed the top of John's head, rousing him to sit up and blink sleepily at them. His glasses were again out of line and Stephen again fixed them. He got a smile for his trouble. One of Jon's hands came up to rest on the arm still holding him and Stephen saw the other lingering at John's waist.

“Thank you,” John said.

“Thank you,” Stephen replied. He was probably smirking.

“What he said,” Jon added. Stephen felt a laugh trembling up his spine. “You heading out?”

It wasn't a hint – John's eyes were drifting, in search of a clock, and Stephen took the moment to press a kiss to Jon's temple. John's eyes snapped back to them, embarrassed.

“I should,” he said, and began to get up. Stephen looked down in time to see his softened cock slip free of Jon. His face heated; that moment felt somehow more voyeuristic than the whole quarter hour preceding.

“All right,” Jon sighed. “Good show, tonight.”

In the act of zipping his pants, John grinned. “Thank you. You too, Jon.”

“See you next week. And travel safe, okay?”

John left with a brief flurry of goodbyes and, as the door clicked shut, Stephen grabbed Jon tight and twisted him about to kiss him full on the mouth. Jon burst into giggles and tolerated the ambush for as long as it took him to get a hand on Stephen's erection. Stephen hissed and bit down on Jon's lower lip before pulling away. Jon was smirking.

“No fair!” Stephen said.

“You wanna do something about this now?” he asked. “Or wait until we get home?”

“I'm not the one who has issues with impulse control. Get _over_ here.” It wasn't actually intended to be ironic.

He caught Jon by the shoulders and pulled him in. Jon cooperated this time and the next few minutes were sacrificed to warm, quick kisses, none too deep because Stephen was still smiling and Jon kept giggling and, hard or not, Stephen was far too content to push further.

“Hey,” Jon said, as Stephen continued to trail soft, moist kisses along his jaw and neck. “Don't think I'm objecting or anything. But what's this for?”

Stephen laughed and bit him.

“Hey!” He shoved him back, giggling again. “What was _that_ for?”

“Asking a question you don't want an answer to,” Stephen said, settling back with a smirk. Jon was half in his lap, still naked from the waist down. Not bad at all.

“How do you figure?” Jon asked, and leaned in to reciprocate, pressing his mouth to the underside of Stephen's jaw. Stephen lay a hand in his hair and braced himself to be bitten.

“You _never_ want me to tell you how awesome you are.”

Yup, there is was.

“Ow!” He pulled Jon's head away and frowned. “See? You don't want to know. So why ask?”

Jon snorted and climbed to his feet. As if to ensure this wasn't taken for rejection, he leaned in and lay a kiss on Stephen's mouth before going for his cargo pants and underwear, lying on the chair John's jacket had hung from.

“Stop it,” he said.

Warm with self-satisfaction, Stephen sat up and reached for his shoes.

“Never!”

“Then stop it in my hearing. Or I cut you off.”

Stephen made a derisive sound, midway between laugh and snort.

“What, you think I like you too much?” Jon asked. He turned, tightening his belt.

“I think you like my dick too much,” Stephen said.

“Hmm.” Jon feigned consideration and dropped into a squat beside the couch, eye level to Stephen's crotch. “You may be right,” he said, and reached out to give it a friendly pat before grinning up at him. “Though the rest of you's not bad, either.” He kissed Stephen's forehead and added, “Come on. Let's get you back to my place so I can defile you.”

Stephen vaulted the sofa arm in the time it took Jon to get to his feet. He swung open the door and bowed Jon through.

“By all means,” he said, as Jon laughed. “Let the defiling begin.”


	4. Chapter 4

Jon was loose and warm on the way to his place – warm flush to his cheeks and lips, warmth in his eyes when he looked at Stephen from under his lashes; gut deep heat in the smiles he kept casting sidelong, smiles Stephen might not have caught if he hadn't been watching so closely. Stephen wondered how it was possible Jon could still be up for it, after the morning they had and the scene they'd just finished, but there it was in every line of his body. Satiation, obvious relaxation, but still that warmth: invitation in the curve of his mouth, the cant of his hips, the arc of his neck – in his hand (his hands, always so cold, but warm now, or is Stephen cold? it feels like Jon is the lone source of warmth in the world, all of Stephen's creeping out to reach him) when it tugs Stephen's wrist to get him moving again, and Stephen hadn't noticed the cab pulling up, hadn't even realized they were taking a cab.

He became aware that he didn't remember much of the minutes since they left Jon's office. He was too turned on, too distracted by the looks Jon was giving him, by the heat in his eyes and the awareness of how good this was going to be, how good it already was, how fucking lucky he was and how did he manage to get there at all? He'd been fucking Jon, watching Jon fuck, listening to those sounds and kissing those lips for years. Even when it was bad it was amazing. Stephen had never felt anything like it.

Stephen sat and watched Jon slide in beside him. He heard the driver being instructed without comprehending because Jon's mouth was moving and Stephen wasn't sure there was anything Jon's mouth could do that wasn't mesmeric. He wanted to kiss him, put his hands on him, but however open the secret was, Jon's sexual escapades were still _secret_ and molesting him in a cab would not be conducive to secret-keeping.

_Secret-keeping._

That thought caught in Stephen's head; Jon was where he kept all his secrets.

Right there, in that hollow under the corner of his jaw. How many times had Stephen put his mouth there and whispered words that would have been nonsense against any other skin? Any other skin save that at the backs of Jon's knees, where Stephen's lips would follow a swipe of his tongue; his belly, inner thighs, the small of Jon's back, they all kept Stephen's secrets, safe and warm, tucked away just under the surface. And his center, of course; Stephen was murmuring devotion against his clitoris, slipping the warm words down deep into his vagina – _thank you_ and _you're amazing_ and _you inspire me_ – long before he dared say anything of the kind to Jon's face.

He wanted to say them – to say all sorts of things – _I want you_ and _you're beautiful_ and _how can you not realize how amazing you are?_ – right there in the cab but he had no idea where to start and that might be more indiscreet than just jumping him. Which was –

Stephen wanted to fuck Jon in the sun. Just. Someday. It was an idea he'd had – he wasn't sure since when. Take him outside, somewhere; strip him bare. See all that skin, warm under natural light, gray hair turned to silver, wetness shining between his open legs. It wasn't exhibitionism, exactly. It was just –

Sunshine.

Jon deserved sunshine.

Fuck, Stephen was hard. He was so hard he wasn't even making sense to himself.

Like he could hear the bright storm raging in Stephen's head, Jon looked over with another heated smile, one eyebrow up, confidant like he almost never was. But this was one of the few things not even his reflexive insecurity could fuck up. It might have been a test for his neurosis – the day he doubted Stephen wanted him was the day they knew he'd lost it.

Stephen grinned back and these looks – obviously predatory on Jon's end and Stephen was never great at restraining his adoration – were not the soul of discretion. But fuck it. New York cab drivers did not care.

Jon's hand – felt cold, again, maybe because Stephen's body temperature had jumped about a hundred degrees – wrapped around his wrist, again, fingers at his pulse. Stephen could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears, filling his throat, and Jon looked away and out the window, still smirking. Stephen felt his nipples tighten and the small hairs on the back of his neck rise and as he shivered he thought he would never want anything else the way he wanted Jon, every minute of every day - the way he wanted him then, in the darkened cab with the city lights flashing over his face.

“It's Thursday,” Stephen heard himself say.

Jon looked back, startled, eyes gone wide. Stephen smiled at him, tentative, hopeful. After a moment, comprehension dawned and Jon smiled back, a mirror image.

“Yes, it is,” he said. The smiled changed, once again, overlain with possession, and he tightened his grip on Stephen's wrist. “Excellent. I forgot about that.”

“Well, that's why I'm here,” Stephen said. It was a fight to keep his voice from going soft and breathless. He mostly won. “To remind you of these things.”

That understood, Jon released his wrist and broke off eye contact, again, returning his gaze to the window. Stephen left his hand where it was for a moment, flat against the seat between them, fingers spread wide, starlike, eyes still on Jon.

“Thanks for coming with me,” Jon said, voice so casual, so normal, Stephen might have worried if he hadn't still been able to see the remnants of his smile.

“Thanks for having me along,” Stephen said, and, after a moment, he managed to regain enough muscle control to relax his hand and pull his eyes away. _Mesmeric._

He thought of practical things to cool himself down and was just concluding that, yes, he had abandoned clothes at Jon's place and, no, he had never gotten them back, when the cab rolled to a stop at the curb and he was obliged to follow Jon out.

The urge – the need – for touch, for contact, connection, to press close and push deep, to offer and be claimed, rose with every step and if he weren't wearing his coat Stephen's erection would have presented a public safety hazard. Jon paid the driver and they went up the stoop and inside – entryway, elevator ride, and Stephen concentrated on his breathing and felt himself flushing ever deeper as Jon's eyes, blue like the preservation of a color just invented, drifted over him, casual but so very thorough. Jon was as relaxed as you'd expect of a man after a fuck like he'd already had twice that day and seemed to be enjoying the tension Stephen was building up in his honor.

Once they got into the apartment, Stephen gave Jon time to draw the chain on the door before stepping close and pinning him against it. His arms slipped around Jon's waist and he molded himself into his back, felt his body warm and round and real, pressed between Stephen and the door. Through their clothes, the delicious curve of Jon's ass was detectable and Stephen moaned once, very quietly, into the hair behind his ear.

“Want you,” he murmured. “So much.”

Jon turned his head and smiled.

“So I gathered,” he said, and pressed back into his erection.

With another moan, Stephen thrust hard against him and buried his face in his neck. Jon laughed and twisted in his arms, moving against his groin as he went and making Stephen gasp. His lips were still parted when Jon's hands caught his jaw and dragged him down into a deep, wet kiss. Stephen whimpered and pressed closer, craving contact. He allowed Jon to peel him out of his coat on the condition he be allowed to suck desperately on his tongue.

Jon had worked his shirt and pullover up to his armpits before Stephen quite realized what was happening. The sudden pinch of fingers at his nipples – god, tugging at his nipples – made him draw back with another gasp.

“Oh, god, Jon.”

“Off,” Jon said, abandoning his nipples to pluck at his shirt. “Come on, Stephen, strip.”

Stephen hastened to comply, fumbling off his layers as Jon shed his own coat then went for Stephen's belt. He hissed as it was yanked out through the loops and the heat of concentration in Jon's eyes, riveted on the aching bulge in Stephen's pants, moved him before he quite realized what he was doing to pin Jon again.

Jon went with it, meeting Stephen's fevered kisses with his mouth open and willing, taking his tongue to keep. His legs went tight around Stephen's hips as he lifted him, crushing him to the door with his body. Jon moaned, arms flying to fold fast around his neck while Stephen's hands dropped down to the perfect curve of his ass, lush and firm, and cradled it in his palms. Stephen bit at Jon's lips, dragging Jon down against him as he thrust up, grinding his cock against his groin. He could hear himself making a noise, low and rough, and when Jon wrenched his mouth away – a gasp, a thump, as the back of his head made contact with the door – Stephen went for his throat and bit down, still rocking hard against him.

“Oh, god – fuck! Stephen – Stephen – dammit, baby, if you come – Stephen, if you finish before you get inside me, you won't come again until Monday.”

Stephen forced himself to stop moving and moaned loudly into the crook of Jon's neck. He leaned more of his weight on him, burrowing into his warmth, still squeezing his ass, fascinated by the pliant heat of his body.

“Jon - ”

“Stephen – dammit – Stephen, put me down so I can take my clothes off.”

With a whimper and a final parting squeeze, Stephen obeyed, carefully lowering Jon onto his feet as he stepped away. He watched, fascinated, as Jon peeled out of his shirt and sweater then fixed him with a heated, if amused, glare.

“Stephen?”

Stephen's eyes were on Jon's bared torso – belly and chest, nipples half-obscured by graying hair. Maybe twelve hours ago, Stephen was licking those nipples, pushing his tongue into the wet folds between Jon's legs. Less than an hour ago, Stephen was cradling that body in his lap, feeling Jon orgasm with John Oliver's cock thrusting into him.

He didn't respond immediately when Jon said his name; the memories were too stark, too vivid, too recent to really feel past. Some part of him was still there. If he had to go back through time and find all the pieces of himself he'd left scattered in the last ten years, Jon would probably have most of them.

“Stephen?” Jon said, again. He leaned back on the door, pulling off his shoes and the move – though it made the muscles in his arms flex around his chest in the most distracting fashion – snapped Stephen out of his enchantment. “You still with me?”

Stephen laughed, breathless.

“When am I anywhere else?” he asked.

Jon smiled at him and Stephen was surprised to find his hands back at the front of his pants, undoing his fly.

“Uh, thanks,” he said, and hissed as jeans and boxers were pushed down, his aching erection freed to the cool apartment air.

“Mm,” Jon said. “Happy to see me.” He wrapped his hand around it and Stephen groaned. “Thought you might be.”

“D – Delighted.” Stephen whimpered as Jon gave his cock a slow, teasing stroke.

Then he was released and hands were on his shoulders, shifting him.

“Against the wall, Colbert,” Jon said. “Since you can't get your clothes off yourself.”

Stephen fell back into the wall, hands scrambling for purchase on the paint-smooth surface and choked on a stab at speech as Jon dropped to his knees in front of him.

“J – Jon?” he said.

Jon looked up at him from under his eyelashes, a faint smirk on his lips, and Stephen could remember the last time he'd seen him from this angle, could tell you the exact date because it was his birthday. He could feel his skin flushing, sweat breaking out at the back of his neck, spreading across his shoulders and chest, and then there were those eyes, dark and vivid, meeting his from under lowered lashes, so close he could feel Jon's exhale against his flushed, leaking cock –

Stephen shuddered and let his head fall back against the wall. He thought he might just come right there if he spent one more second looking at Jon on his knees in front of him.

He cooperated (awkwardly, as this full body arousal was not conducive to fine motor control or, in fact, to standing upright) as Jon got his shoes and socks off and was bracing to step out of his jeans without falling over when he became aware Jon had stopped moving, holding his waistband around his knees. He risked a glance down and saw Jon eying his erection with the most beautiful expression of contentment on his face. Contentment and lust, but mostly – mostly it was that joy Stephen had spent the last decade trying to coax out of him; that look of happiness Jon got in bed and when he knew he'd done good and when Stephen did good and when something in the world didn't let them down, for once, and at times like that the first person Jon looked to was Stephen, with this look on his face, very nearly this precise look, and it was like Stephen's erect penis, the physical manifestation of this desire that had been one of the few constants in their lives over the years, was somehow on the same level of Good Things as finally being able to say, 'President Elect Obama' and while Stephen never wondered and never regretted and never wanted anything else it was moments like this he could point to if anyone else ever started wondering. Stephen hadn't had sex without Jon in a couple of years, now; he didn't want to, didn't need to, hadn't needed anything but this for a long, long time.

He must have made some sound because Jon looked up and met his eyes, again. Whatever he saw made his expression change, go wide and breathless, then blossom again.

“You're too damn good to me,” he said and then, before Stephen could quite process the non sequitor, he added, “Remember you're not allowed to come, yet.”

“I – what – Jon – oh, fuck!”

Jon's mouth, steaming velvet, descended on Stephen's cock, sudden and deep. He felt the head hit the back of Jon's throat midshout, just as his head slammed back into the wall.

“Oh, fuck – fuck – Jon!”

Jon sucked hard and Stephen's worldview narrowed to wet, relentless suction for maybe ten seconds before he retreated, again, lips sliding tight along his shaft and pulling off the end with an obscene slurping sound Stephen barely heard over his own desperate keen.

Jon's hands were on his hips and Stephen might have pitched forward if they hadn't steadied him. He swayed, gasping, reeling, first from the sudden influx of sensation and then the cool, still air once again surrounding his cock.

“J – Jon – fuck – Jon.”

He looked down, saw Jon's wet, red lips, his wide, lust-black eyes and moaned aloud when he said, “Stephen, baby. You need to fuck me, now.”

He caught Jon's hands and dragged him up, off his knees, and into a fevered kiss. Jon wrapped his arms around his shoulders, moaning into Stephen's mouth as his pants were undone with shaking fingers and shoved down. They broke apart to kick off what remained of their clothes and Jon gave first a grunt of surprise, as he was twisted and pressed to the wall again, then something close to a scream as two of Stephen's fingers were introduced into his vagina. Stephen thrust them without ceremony into the velvety folds of flesh, hot and wetly aroused, and crushed his mouth to Jon's to take in his cries.

“Yes, fuck!”

Jon bucked immediately down onto them, his hands scrambling up Stephen's torso and catching at his upper arms. He pulled him closer, uncoordinated, as Stephen moved his fingers roughly inside him, then fell apart entirely when Stephen's thumb made contact with his swollen clit.

“Yes, fuck, f - ” He trailed into incoherence, thrusting down, hands still grasping and tugging, breath coming in broken pants. Stephen bit down on his neck and pressed closer, worrying the skin gently between his teeth and holding back the urge to fuck Jon through the wall. He was whining and writhing, hurtling towards orgasm, his skin hot and trembling under and around Stephen's hands. Stephen tried to remember, to calculate – in the last instant before Jon came he stopped and wrenched his hand out from the grasp of tensing interior muscles, pulling with them something close to a wail.

“Stephen!”

Jon's legs gave way and Stephen caught him into a controlled fall to the floor. There were frustrated tears in his bright blue eyes. His legs fell apart when he landed and Stephen went, once more, between them. His mouth sealed again to his clitoris, teasing hard with his tongue, tasting arousal so thick it nearly over-whelmed him as his fingers parted his labia, exposing his wet entrance to the air. Jon's hips moved erratically, breath coming in a needy, unsteady whine. Stephen left his clit, prompting another round of whimpers and shuddering, and blew gently into his opening before slipping his tongue inside. The hand he had at Jon's hip barely kept him from doing Stephen injury with in the ensuing thrust. His thumb went back to Jon's clit as he pressed his mouth deeper into hot flesh, attention consumed by the warm taste of his fluids, the heavy smell of sweat and desire. Muscles quivered under his over-heated skin, under Stephen's hand at his hip and in his thighs, shifting and heaving, spread around the center where Stephen worked. Jon's capacity for speech was gone, leaving him with cracked whimpers and shattered moans, rising to something close to the scream when his orgasm finally came.

Stephen kept him through it, not pulling away until the last tremor had passed and Jon was grabbing his shoulders and arms, again, dragging their mouths together. He wrapped his legs around Stephen and licked the wetness from his lips and chin, gasping words into his skin between laps.

“Now, dammit, please, fuck me Stephen, now - ”

Stephen took hold of his hips, again, and made the final awkward shift to enter him. The first touch of Jon's wet heat to the tip of his erection was almost painfully good, sending a bolt of long-frustrated lust through him and he might have frozen if Jon hadn't gasped and arched closer. Stephen was pushed further, just penetrating, and whimpered, tightening his grip on Jon before slamming in deep.

“Oh, god!”

He was engulfed, so easily, Jon's body not so much welcoming as assimilating his cock as it entered, slid in and was closed upon by wet, infinitely soft inner walls, clamping down on his aching flesh, a relief and a catalyst to raw need. It drew a groan out of Stephen and into Jon's mouth, sealed over his, taking his breath even as his vagina took his cock. Stephen pressed him down hard into the floor and wall, trying to hold him as he thrust but Jon refused to be stilled, hooking a leg and both arms around him, adding his own strength to every push, while the other foot braced on the floor. Stephen heard himself make a sound, something like a growl, as he abandoned self-control and began to rut against him, thrusts deep and hard. Their chests heaved against each other as Stephen pushed and pushed and tried like hell to get deeper into the impossible heat and pressure inside Jon, clinging to his hips and moaning into his open mouth.

Jon squirmed against him, meeting every thrust and matching it, their bodies colliding with a force that might have been painful if they hadn't needed it so bad. He was making sounds Stephen couldn't quite decipher, hungry, dictatorial sounds that, if words they were, took on shapes like 'more' and 'yes' and 'harder' and Stephen complied. He wrapped his arms tight around Jon's waist, drawing him closer against his own body, and shoved him back against the wall. Jon gasped and jerked his head back, banging into the plaster, again, and Stephen's panting bubbled into something like a laugh – he'd made contact with Jon's clit, stimulating it with every grinding thrust and Jon's movements became rougher, needier, and he was definitely talking, now, yes, ordering Stephen to do it harder, do it faster, _do it_ , dammit, fuck him _more, now_ and Stephen bit down on his shoulder and did.

His dick had been hard for a long time and Jon's body, strong and insistent, so wet and deep, so warm wrapped around him, was the best thing he'd ever felt, every time. He pushed harder, pushed farther, fucked him like they both needed it, until his words cut off with a ragged gasp that jumped and multiplied and rose into a scream. Stephen heard him, felt him come, and shoved in deep, so deep, one last time, buried himself in hot, wet flesh and came.

 

The next thing Stephen was more than peripherally aware of was Jon's voice, calling him a slut. He was pretty much okay with that characterization and said so. Jon laughed.

“My slut,” he said, voice a low rumble, and nuzzled Stephen's temple. They were still on the floor. Not too much time had passed but they needed to get up, soon.

“Pretty much,” Stephen agreed. “I don't know why you still bother vibrators.”

“No refractory period,” Jon replied. “And you won't fit in my nightstand. Also, they _vibrate_.” He kissed Stephen's cheek then pushed him back. “Move your ass, Colbert. Before my joints seize.”

“Getting old, Jon,” he replied, and moved. Supporting each other, they rose and leaned together in the middle of the entryhall. “Maybe I should be more gentle,” he added, thoughtfully. “Wouldn't want to overwhelm you in your declining years.”

Jon laughed, again, into the next kiss.

“You're the one who can't keep up,” he said. He moved away and began to lead the way to his bedroom, pulling Stephen by the hand. “Come on,” he said. “We're on a schedule.”

“Are we?” Stephen asked.

“You are. Right now you're supposed to be cuddling me. In half an hour, you're going to make me a sandwich.” They had reached the bedroom and Jon pushed Stephen towards the bed. “You can make one for yourself, too.”

“Oh, thank you!”

Stephen dropped back into the pillows, giggling. Jon lay down beside him and Stephen gave a happy sigh as he was pulled into his arms. He snuggled closer and tangled his hands in with Jon's, saying, “This right?”

“Mm,” Jon said. “Satisfactory.”

“How about after the sandwich?” Stephen asked.

“After the sandwich,” Jon said, “you will wash the dishes. Then - ” He pulled one of his hands free as Stephen laughed. “Depends,” he said, and reached down gentle fingers to caress Stephen's limp, still tender, penis. Stephen shivered and squirmed, the sensation erotic and uncomfortably intense. Jon continued to play with him until Stephen let out a whimper, then relented and took his hand, again.

“Sorry,” Jon murmured, and pressed a kiss to Stephen's shoulder.

“S'all right,” he said. “What next?”

He felt Jon smile against his skin before his head lifted and lips brushed Stephen's good ear.

“Either,” he said, “I'm going to get on my hands and knees and you're going to fuck me from behind until I beg you to come in me - ” Stephen squeezed his eyes shut and moaned, turning his head, but Jon moved with him, not missing a beat “ - and I mean beg, Stephen. You've made me beg before. I want you to do it again.”

Breathless, Stephen said, “Might – might take a while.”

Jon giggled. Some of the sudden tension went out of the air. Stephen shifted onto his side to wind an arm around him.

“Good thing you've already come your brains out twice, today.”

Stephen nodded. He tucked himself into Jon's chest and ran a hand over his back and side, anchoring himself in the warm familiarity of Jon's skin.

“What's the other option?” he asked.

Another laugh. Stephen tilted his head so his good ear wasn't blocked by the pillow.

“If you still need some recovery time,” Jon said, “you'll entertain me with my vibrators for a while. Then we'll see how good you are.”

More tremors went through him. Stephen pressed closer and buried his face in Jon's chest. The wiry hair and the slight stickiness of sweat, with it's strong, salty scent, felt good against his cheek. He could feel the minor curve of Jon's belly, warm and solid, and the damp brush of his pubic hair against his stomach. He shivered, again, and felt Jon's fingers on his jaw, urging him up.

Jon kissed him, and, quietly and clearly against his lips, said, “Good plan?”

When Stephen opened his eyes, all he could see were Jon's, bright as the stars, gazing at him from inches away.

“Good plan,” he said.

**Author's Note:**

> Full prompt, as posted to the kink meme:
> 
> Jon/anyone-and-everyone. In which Jon has a vagina, and really, really enjoys getting fucked.
> 
> Nation, if this meme has taught us anything, it's that you can have porn which is both sensitive to real-world trans issues and hotter than fire. However, for purposes of this prompt, part of the kink is that it bears no relation to reality. No dysphoria, no gender issues, no logical (or magical, or supernatural) explanation at all, and nobody in-story thinks there's anything unusual about it. The only time it would get referred to is if someone like O'Reilly or character!Stephen makes sexist comments about bottoming in general, and Jon likes being fucked so much that it still wouldn't make him want them to stop.


End file.
